


Sunday Mornings are the Worst

by Wishme



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Domestic Fluff, Fallen Castiel, Fluff, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-07
Packaged: 2017-12-07 19:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/752290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wishme/pseuds/Wishme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, has a hangover.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sunday Mornings are the Worst

Castiel, former Angel of the Lord, has a hangover. He can feel it pounding behind his temples where his brothers’ voices used to live, a repetitive, unending throb. He knows it’s light out because the inside of his eyelids are glowing red, but he can’t even contemplate the thought of summoning the effort to open them—the energy is better spent remembering how to breathe.

The world explodes.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” Dean lets the door fly into the wall for emphasis. Cas wants to cry, but instead tries to tunnel further into his pillow, attempting to find a reality that isn’t so _loud_. Dean settles on the side of their bed, bouncing slightly, sending Cas’s stomach into all sorts of upheaval before peeling the covers away from his friend’s face. Blue eyes, red rimmed and bleary glare back at him. “You should show me some respect. I still have my sword somewhere. Or I could puke on your shoes.” A pained look crosses Cas’s face, “All of that sounds like a terrible idea. Moving is awful. This is worse than dying, Dean. Literally”

Dean cracks up at the petulant look on his friend’s face and Cas scowls even harder before rolling over and wrapping himself entirely in the comforter. Cas doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until Dean wakes him again. “Hey Sunshine, I’ve got something for you” Cas cracks his eyes open reluctantly to see two red tablets and a bottle of bright red liquid on the nightstand not 5 inches from his face. “Advil and Gatorade,” Dean elaborates, ”Ambrosia.”

Cas just peers over the edge of the duvet, unimpressed. Dean smiles softly, “Trust me.”

“That’s what you said before the scotch, Dean,” Cas growls and extracts one arm to pop the tablets in his mouth. Dean uncaps the drink and passes it over. After the first sip, Cas clutches the bottle tight, his eyes wide. “This is _amazing_ , Dean.” and proceeds to drain half the bottle.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, buddy,” Dean snatches the bottle away, “Take it easy. Your stomach might not be ready for that quite yet.”

Cas reaches his hand out and makes a grabbing motion until Dean hands the bottle back. After another sip he sighs, “I believe this qualifies you for god-hood. I would kneel now before my benevolent deity, but I’m really not sure that’s a great idea.”

Dean just winks and says “We can discuss that kneeling thing later. “ Cas scrunches his nose and looks pained, ”That was bad, even for you. Now go away,” and dives back under the covers. Dean grins at his friend’s prone form before quietly sliding out of the room. He’s got some time before sleeping beauty will be up again. Probably just enough to grab that nitrate-free bacon Cas loves from the store and make that frittata thing they tried last week when Sam came over. Dean smiles to himself as he grabs the Imapala’s keys from the hook, he’s totally sunk and that’s totally okay by him.


End file.
